Making Mountains out of Toadstools

It's been another jam-packed week, wall to wall with watching TV, playing games on the computer, making meals in cauldrons so they last a few days and trying to hold back the urge to do more washing. I resisted the urge to a point, which I'm very proud of. There are only 4 garments hanging on clothes hangers off the hallway door frame, instead of the 12 that were there last week when I succumbed to overwashing.

Also, I went to the Quack, hoping for a quick-fix (you can hear the naivety, right?) to a recurring annoying problem that has recurred recurrently since I've had the kids. Prior to kids, it didn't happen, so I can certainly blame them. I got a quick-fix alright, and it involves eating no carbohydrates for a week. As a Pole, I don't really understand food without potatos. This could be a problem, I thought. Following this stinging slap, the Doctor hit me with a cricket bat; No sugar. Of any kind. You understand what this means, right? No chocolate. I really was just hoping for a pill. I may have been willing to have minor surgery instead of this. And it follows that I've just brought home a box of Fundraising chocolates home from Kinder last week. RIPPED OFF.

And the worst part is, if this fixes my problem, then I obviously have to stay away from sugar. Like, forever. F O R E V E R.

Oh yeah, that and also a referral for an ultrasound to make sure that my benign ovary lump friends haven't returned, just in case. Oh, the fun.

I'm really only worried about the chocolate.

Here are some pics from a Mushrooming expedition to Macedon on Thursday; I forgot my camera and had to make do with Dad's point'n'shoot, which is a great little camera but I didn't know how to use it properly to get the best out of it, and I find that the images aren't the best.

Mushrooming is an annual event in my family, and Dad knows all the plantation forests where the pine trees make a perfect habitat for the kids of European mushrooms that he uses in all the traditional cooking.

It's the end of the mushroom season, and Dad's already been a number of times, and has a massive haul of mushrooms at home, all drying on their little ropes in front of the heater, making their place smell divine. We really went so that the kids could have an adventure, and that they certainly did. The Ratbag traipsed around that forest for over 3 hours with Dad, he was red-cheeked and bright eyed, and had a wonderful time stomping around in his gumboots. Coupled with the fact that he was allowed to rip his pants off and wee ANYWHERE, he was the happiest he'd been for ages. Peanut was the quietest I've ever known her to be, she was completely enthralled with the silence in the woods, and her eyes were huge, drinking in the experience. We only ran into one other set of persons, and of course, they were Polish, looking for the same mushrooms. Damn Poles, we run into them every year, though not the actual same ones. That would be creepy. We eventually got back to the car, had a picnic on the grass (where THESE were a major hit, as they always are),

and both of the kids were so buggered that they crashed the moment that the car started moving again on the way home.

I spent the whole evening peeling the skins off the Mushrooms that we'd picked, cleaning and chopping them into pieces for drying, so I too could come home to that smell I remember from my childhood. However, the wind was taken out of my sails a bit when Mr M came over to the kitchen and asked me why I brought home all the Toadstools. Seriously.

I know they're not toadstools, and I've been picking and eating them since I was a girl, but what the hell are they? In Polish, they are maslaki, but can anyone identify them in English?

I took great pleasure in pointing out that he'd actually been eating them for years, in every friggin' meal that Dad's ever prepared. And he's not even dead or anything.